That's Not Neal
by Brianna Jacobs
Summary: After a bad case, Peter finds Neal exactly where he's supposed to be...Home. Rating for possible future chapters
1. Neal's POV

**Disclaimer:** Clearly I don't own this....If I did, I would be rich, and you would have seen this scene on TV

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Neal Caffrey has never been afraid of who he is. He knows that he looks good, hell he knows that he could have practically anyone he wanted with a wink a gesture; but that's not Neal.

Sure he flirts a lot; but never once has he taken one of the girls home. Peter accuses him of being a playboy, but that's not Neal.

Neal tips his glass back, and lets the last few drops of wine roll down the condensation-frosted side of the glass to his lips. It had been a hard few days, with a harder case strung out on top of them. A simple money laundering case involving a dry-cleaners, the local art museum, and four different shipping companies had spiraled out of control as first the money forgery had turned to laundering, then to blackmail, then to art theft, then forgery, and finally murder and drug running.

Peter Burke had been ordered to pull Neal off the case once the under-cover ex-con had discovered the blackmail, but by that point he was in too deep. Neal's old friend and former associate was running the ring, and decided to put his skills to good use.

Peter had spent the better part of two days trying to find a way to gracefully extract Neal from the mess, but since all of it hinged on Neal's friend not noticing that the former thief had suddenly developed a taste for flaking out on his friends, Neal had disagreed.

He had disagreed strongly enough that he'd cut his anklet, and gone back in to the group. Within two days Neal had brought the whole group crashing down, actually delivering the entire organization, and the head of the local mafia, right to the FBI's doorstep. Complete with ribbon and card.

Neal rather wished that he could have seen the agent's faces when they opened the armored vehicle he had sent them and found eighteen of the city's most wanted criminals bound, gagged, and very unhappy with all the photographic evidence needed to put them away for life.

A banging on the door to his apartment brought Neal's head up off the back of the deck chair with a jerk. He blinked owlishly at the full moon hanging over the city spires, and shook his head sharply as the world spun around him.

Maybe he was a bit drunker than he had thought.

"Come in." He yelled, if it was Peter he'd be there anyway, and June and Moz both knew what the week had brought.

The door creaked open as Neal reached out an unsteady hand to grasp the mostly-empty wine bottle by the neck. He poured the last of the wine carefully into his glass, staring intently at the deep burgundy flow so he didn't spill a precious drop.

Peter came out onto the balcony, surprised to find Neal there, just in time to see Neal put the bottle down carefully, a foot and a half to the left of the table. He sighed, obviously the discussion he needed to have with Caffrey would have to wait.

He crouched down next to the thief's chair, placing a hand on the arm for balance.

"Hey Peter," Neal said softly. The silky glide of the ex-con's voice sent chills racing down the FBI agent's spine. Neal's voice was deeper than normal, softer and somehow more intimate, though whether it was from the alcohol or something else Peter didn't know.

"Neal," he responded softly, watching Neal's throat work as he swallowed the last of the (most likely hideously expensive) wine. "Why did you come back?"

"Where else would I go Peter?" The sorrow in Neal's voice was heartbreaking.

"I don't know, anywhere. But you have to know that they're going to lock you up again after this stunt." Peter dragged himself to his feet, and then pulled the unsteady man up with him. "Let's get you in bed, we can discuss this in the morning."

"I wouldn't run Peter." Neal said, carefully placing his feet on the smooth slate with exaggerated care. Peter was amused to see that Neal was barefoot, though for the life of him he couldn't figure out why that was amusing.

"Why Neal." He asked, pausing the thief by his bed to strip him of his tie, jacket, hat and pants.

As Neal sank down onto the silk sheets, looking strangely young and vulnerable in only his boxers and an undershirt, he blinked at his keeper, backup, and friend. "Because you're here Peter." He said as though it were simple common sense.

"Neal," Peter said, trying to stop the other man before he said something he would regret.

"I could never leave you Peter, after all, I trust you." Neal murmured as his eyes slipped closed.

Peter pulled the blankets up over the other man, and paused to set two Tylenol and a glass of water on the bedside table before joining the other agents by the door.

"I believe, Agent Burke, that we can trust your judgment on the matter of Neal Caffrey from this point onward." The director of the field office said from behind one of the other men. Peter blinked; he hadn't even realized that the man had come with them.

"Thank you sir." Peter said softly, surprised once again by the unpredictable man.

"Let's go." The director said, ushering the rest of the agents out of the apartment.

In the other room, Neal smiled softly, and curled up under his blankets, murmuring to himself "Peter…" and dreaming of a hand smoothing itself through his hair.


	2. Peter's POV

**Summary: **Follows the events in That's Not Neal from Peter's perspective. What was Peter thinking when he found Neal right where he was supposed to be?

Peter Burke leaned back against the pale siding of the house he shared with El, and tipped the last half of the bottle of beer down his throat. Neal had, once again, managed to surprise him. When the investigation had gone south, the director had pulled the entire office off the case. He'd wanted to re-evaluate the situation and find a new approach. Peter should have known that the ex-con and his erstwhile partner wouldn't stand for that, especially with the phone call informing him that the man running the swiftly-escalating crime ring was an old friend.

They'd lost the transmission from Neal's wire about ten minutes before Neal had cut his anklet. The reaming Peter took from the director on that one was still ringing in his ears. Everyone in the office had assumed the same thing. With an old friend to help him, why wouldn't Neal cut and run?

With help, the man could easily disappear off the face of the earth in a matter of days, and it was doubtful that they would be able to catch him so easily this time around.

But he hadn't. When the team had re-grouped in the office, giving the armored car sitting at the curb a few suspicious looks, a courier had shown up with a package for Peter. Inside he'd found the keys to the same car that had been sitting outside their building for the past three hours.

A glance at the security tape showed Neal parking the vehicle, tossing the camera a salute, and wandering casually down the street.

When the car had been found to contain all of the men Neal had gone under to catch, and as a bonus a couple of mafia members with out-standing warrants, the director of the field office had disappeared into his office, and as far as they knew hadn't come out by the time Peter took at team over to June's to see if he could determine where the thief was heading.

No one had been more surprised that Peter to find Neal home, sitting on his balcony. Though to be honest the surprising part was the one where the younger man was so drunk he could barely pour wine into his glass.

Peter waved off offers of assistance from the other agents, and gently herded the younger man to bed. He was surprised when his last act after tucking Neal in before heading back to the agents was to smooth his hand through Neal's hair and down his cheek.

He was sent home after being informed by the director that Neal's anklet would probably be removed. Apparently the US Marshals were getting sick of having to send them replacements.

Peter gazed morosely into his empty beer bottle.

"I should have trusted him not to run off." He said, lifting his head to gaze into liquid brown eyes watching him intently with a combination of sorrow, disappointment, and love. Or maybe it was just hunger.

Peter sighed as he levered himself to his feet with the help of the wall. "Come on Satch," he said to the dog sitting at his feet. "Let's get you fed."

Satchmo bounded to the door ahead of the FBI agent, peering back over his shoulder when Peter didn't appear behind him immediately.

He grinned and opened the door for the dog, detouring through the kitchen to drop off his bottle of beer and peck Elizabeth on the cheek.

"Hey, done thinking?" El asked, glancing over at her husband from her spot before the stove.

"I guess," Peter answered, grabbing a second beer out of the fridge, and dropping heavily into a chair at the dining table.

Elizabeth wiped her hands on a dishtowel, and turned the burner on the stove down. She sat down across from the clearly conflicted man, and took his hands in hers. "Come on Peter, talk to me. What's bothering you?"

"It's just…" Peter hesitated before continuing. "I know that he trusts me. He even told me that he trusts you and I more than anyone else in the world. Kate didn't even make it onto the list of people he trusted."

"So what did he do?" El asked, sitting back in her chair. The ex-con must have done something that was causing her husband to tear himself up inside. The only question was which one of them was at fault.

"You remember that case I told you about?" Peter asked, getting to his feet to pace.

Elizabeth nodded. "Yeah, you said it was some money laundering case."

"Well, it headed south about the time I called and said I would be busy for the next few days. It went from money laundering to forgery, then to blackmail, then to art theft, then art forgery, and then murder and drug running. Right around the time we learned about the blackmail, Neal informed us that the head of this lovely operation was none other than an old friend of his." Peter swallowed a third of his beer, missing the worried look on his wife's face. "The director wanted to pull everyone out, re-evaluate the situation before tackling it with a few more officers. Neal disagreed. He cut his anklet, and delivered an armored car full of criminals to the FBI doorstep, complete with that Mob Boss who killed those cops in the central precincts."

"So that's a good thing, right?" El asked, watching her husband pace.

"It would have been a better thing if Neal had stuck around. Instead he dropped off the car and took off. We found him at his apartment, on the balcony, dead drunk."

"And the problem with that was?" El asked after Peter had been silent for a few minutes. She knew her husband well enough to know that he'd gotten to what was eating at him, but he wasn't going to be able to say anything without a little prompting.

"The problem is that I didn't trust him!" Peter yelled, turning to face her. "I thought he was going to run, just like everyone else."

Elizabeth was silent. She wasn't sure what to think. She knew that Neal wanted to find Kate so badly that he was willing to risk everything to get to her, but at the same time, she knew that the bond that was growing between the young art forger and her husband was strong. She just hadn't known that it was strong enough to hold him here yet.

"Peter," she said softly. "He trusts you now. I don't think that there is much in this world that would entice Neal to run right now."

"What about Kate?"

"Peter, think about it. He knows that she's in the city, he knows what she's after, and he had every opportunity today to leave. He didn't. He stayed." El got up and walked over to her pacing husband, taking his hands in hers she stopped him in his tracks and waited until she was sure she had his undivided attention. "Peter, Neal trusts you now. He's not going to leave without telling you first, if he even leaves at all. Think about it. Neal's not going anywhere."


End file.
